"I don't know, Sandy."
Sandy laughed.
"Tommy," said he, "'tis a wicked folly t' cling t' your notion any longer."
"I wants t' know what's in that telegram."
"So does I."
"I'm fair shiverin' with eagerness t' know. Isn't you?"
"I'm none too steady."
"Sandy, I jus' got t' know!"
"Well, then," Sandy Rowl proposed, "we'll go an' bait the telegraph lady into tellin' us."
It was an empty pursuit. The young woman from St. John's was obdurate. Not a hint escaped her in response to the baiting and awkward interrogation of Tommy Lark and Sandy Rowl; and the more they besought her, the more suspicious she grew. She was an obstinate young person—she was precise, she was scrupulous, she was of a secretive, untrustful turn of mind; and as she was ambitious for advancement from the dreary isolation of Point-o'-Bay Cove, she was not to be entrapped or entreated into what she had determined was a breach of discipline. Moreover, it appeared to her suspicious intelligence that these young men were too eager for information. Who were they? She had not been long in charge of the office at Point-o'-Bay Cove. She did not know them. And why should they demand to know the contents of the telegram before undertaking the responsibility of its delivery?